Secrets
by BaldiDaughterChevy
Summary: Dean goes to visit Mary's grave after Sam is sleeping. Tag to Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things.


**Guys, I don't even know what I was doing with this.**

 **It was just a nice scene that I imagined because I really wished Dean had gone to Mary's grave at some point during CSPWDT.**

 **This was the only way I could picture that happening though, because big, tough Dean can't let Sammy see him be human unless he's literally dying inside.**

 **Don't own these boys. Still sad about it.**

Dean was probably one of the few people in the world who could sneak past Sam.

He and Sam were both exhausted after hunting and putting down the restless body of Angela, the undead girl, and, in no time, Sam was snoring away in the twin bed beside him.

But not Dean. He felt bone-tired in a way that something as simple as sleep couldn't fix.

He'd bottled his feelings up so tightly that loosening the lid a little as he had that afternoon, was like uncapping a shaken soda. He felt like he needed a warning on his forehead that read "Caution! Contents under pressure!"

Now he was just trying not to explode somehow, either in a rage or an unmanly burst of tears.

The former would scare Sam all over again, the latter would just lead to one more pointless and painful chick flick moment.

The red, glowing, letters of the clock radio on his bedside table glinted evilly through the dark and he laid on his side, watching the minutes bleeding out and draining away.

Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.

Dean crept out of bed with agonizing slowness.

Even though he seemed to be passed out Sam had the instincts of a hunter, instincts their dad had beat into both of them (usually figuratively, sometimes literally) and the slightest change in the room could cause Dean's gigantic little brother to come surging awake.

Dean got dressed, snatched the motel and car keys, and slipped out the door as stealthily as a six-foot cat.

The time on the car radio read 2:17 as he sped down the road, heading back the way they'd come several hours earlier.

Once he reached the cemetery, he parked beside the road and sat quietly in the Impala for awhile, staring into the night with a face that was uncharacteristically brooding.

He felt the same anxious hesitation he had a couple days ago.

Dean Winchester, dauntless hunter, was truly terrified of only a few things; losing his brother was first on the list. Losing the iron grip he kept on himself was a close second.

The nearer he got to his mother's grave, the more he felt that grip loosening.

That was why he couldn't get within ten feet of it when he was with Sam.

Even though everything he'd said to him was true; their mother wasn't even buried there because there was no body to bury, and her grave was just the halfhearted memento of an uncle they barely knew, it still shook him to be near the place. It was the memory that counted, and Dean's memories of his mom took him back to a time when he was safe, happy and comfortable. Happy memories of those days hurt most. They made him feel like a vulnerable little boy. And he couldn't be that kid ever again.

He had to be tough or his little brother, all that was left of his endangered family, would surely slip through his fingers.

But there was something eating away at him inside. A secret that chewed relentlessly like a hungry parasite, and Dean felt like the only way to be rid of it was to speak it aloud. Even if it was just to a bit of stone placed in remembrance of his mother.

His tearful confession to Sam by the roadside had helped a little but he couldn't tell him everything.

The full weight of his secret was not a burden he was quite ready to place on Sam's shoulders.

So in the heavy silence of that summer night he made his way, reluctant but determined, toward Mary's headstone.

As a hunter he was both unusually comfortable and unusually wary being in a cemetery after dark.

This wasn't anything new to him, but, at the same time he wasn't about to set foot on the grounds without a pistol loaded with silver bullets and an iron club. Just in case. Being brave and being stupid were two entirely different things.

It was eerily quiet in the graveyard. The whole earth seemed to be holding it's breath around the place; no crickets or spring peepers disturbed the utter emptiness of the night.

The moon was bright and nearly full and it seemed to watch him with its frosty, blank eye, staring him down knowingly as he made his secret journey. There was an unseasonable chill in the air. It seeped past his leather jacket, through his favorite flannel, and his dark t-shirt, all the way down to his skin damp with nervous sweat, and he shivered through his layers, thinking longingly about the warm bed he'd left twenty miles back.

Even with the bit of moonlight everything looked so different in the dark, but Dean found the hallowed place in a few minutes, as if guided by an unseen force.

He stopped a couple feet away, half of him still wanting to turn back.

The gravestone was simple and unadorned, the inscription reading only "in loving memory".

It seemed strange to Dean that his beautiful mother, a person he remembered as utterly soft and gentle should be honored by this cold slab of stone. It didn't just seem strange, in fact, it seemed wrong.

There were no flowers by her grave and the grass hadn't been trimmed away as carefully as it had around some of the others.

For some reason, that detail, more than anything made him unspeakably sad.

Just another reminder that their family wasn't normal. The fact that no loving hands had carefully tended the site seemed sufficient evidence that, while other families had time to mourn their loved ones, the Winchesters were too busy wading through blood and fear.

Dean sighed, suddenly feeling so very tired and heavy, like the physical and emotional toll of his short but violent life was finally catching up with him in a devouring wave of fatigue.

He shifted a bit where he stood, then, all at once, walked forward and sank down, kneeling in the damp grass and gently placing a hand on the grave.

"Hey mom." He began, then laughed joylessly.

Here he was in a graveyard at 3 in the morning talking to himself. The whole situation was utterly ridiculous.

He scrubbed a hand across his face and tried again.

"Mom, it's Dean. I know you're not really here. I don't know if you're anywhere honestly. I don't know if there's a heaven, or anything good waiting on the other side, but I'm sure if there is, that's where you are. Because you earned it. That much I do know. "

He paused for a long moment, blinking quickly, and when he spoke again his voice was strained.

"But I must be selfish as hell...because, mom...I wish...I wish you were here. God, I do. I just want to talk to you...everything would still be ok if..." He broke off for a moment, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

"Mom...Sammy and I, I think we're really in trouble this time. Dad's dead and it's all my fault. He died to save me. Didn't even get to kill that yellow-eyed son of a bitch first. No, even worse, he had to bargain with him. I should be dead. And that's not even the end of it."

He tried to laugh again but it was a horrible sound, somewhere between a sob and a choke.

"Something's wrong with Sam now. He's having these headaches and visions and it's getting worse. He's headed for something, I don't know what but...dad told me I might have to..." he couldn't even say the word 'kill' "I might have to stop him." He amended "I'm so scared, mom."

His tight voice faltered into a gasp, and he stopped again, pressing his fingers to his eyes. He shook his head, clenched his jaw and continued.

"Dad raised me to listen to him and I always tried to be a good soldier, I tried so hard but I...mom,* it's Sammy*...I can't lose him...I can't lose him too...I won't."

He got up suddenly, turned his back on his mother's headstone, walked away a few steps, and then stalked back, a familiar, determined set to his shoulders.

"No matter what it takes I won't let anything happen to Sam. I'll do anything to protect him. Dad made a mistake. He shouldn't have asked me to do this. I never could. I never will."

Dean was crying a little now but there was a steel edge to his broken voice, a fierce light in his watery, green eyes that displayed a wild force of will. A frightening, inhuman strength.

Suddenly he couldn't stand to look at his mother's neglected grave any longer.

Dean knelt down at the foot of the grave and started to pull away the overgrown grass with his hands. The evening dew made the dislodged soil muddy, and soon Dean's hands were covered in grime, but he didn't even notice.

He wished he had some flowers to put down but he hadn't thought of it so this was the best he could do.

When he'd finally cleaned up all the weeds, he took a deep breath and wiped his dirty hands on his jeans.

"I love you, mom. I miss you." He whispered.

And as soon as the words left his lips, Dean felt a breeze kick up.

It was warm as summer and it surrounded his trembling body like a strong hug.

He couldn't swear to it, but he thought he smelled the tiniest hint of sweet jasmine and vanilla on the air.

A fragrance that warmed him more than the breeze itself.

It was his mother's perfume.

He drove back to the motel in silence; no rock music blaring from the speakers.

Just him and the road and thoughts that, for once in his life, were peaceful instead of fearful.

When Sam woke the next morning, he found his big brother still sound asleep beside him.

~end

 **Thanks for reading! 3**

 **Review if you liked it. I guess you can review if you didn't like it too. Just don't be too mean.**


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